skyward
by the clockworks
Summary: In a brilliant society high above the clouds, Len has the misfortune of being one of the few that wants to leave. Fortunately, or unfortunately, given your take, he gets his wish. He only wishes that the landing hadn't been so hard. —oliver, len. au. multichapter. slash later on.
1. prologue

Once upon a time, there was a queen who held the favour of her deities, and she reigned within the great expanse whose name was in-between. Stars attempted to burn her alive, asteroids tried to demolish her body, the void used its power to try to crush her lungs, and yet she lived. She lived because of the place she made her home on, and remained young and immortal there. No-one knows how she did it, perhaps she managed to stay that way on will alone? Or, maybe, she found out the secret method to staying young and alive, even when you are as old as time itself?

(None of these things seem to fit as an answer, however; after all, we've been searching for immortality for ages, and still we haven't found it, and anyone who has tried to stay alive on will alone isn't here anymore. So most people choose to think that her gods and goddesses had granted her immortality, in a way, and made her a place to live, too.

Most people.

I don't really like this part of the story...I choose to believe that the queen _stole _her 'immortality' and created a world where she could live, all by herself.

Why?

That is a tale for another time)

Where she resided, there were no others of her kind. In fact, there was hardly nothing at all. There was only the great void of in-between to keep her company, and not even it, with its many galaxies and spinning planets, could keep her preoccupied enough to not notice that there wasn't anyone else there. Her heart began to ache;  
>for what was a queen of a world of nothing?<p>

For a long, long time, the queen sat upon her throne of stars, gazing out at everything, but finding nothing at the same time. She stared and stared, hoping, at least to catch a glimpse of one like her. To no avail. One day, the queen simply stopped looking, preferring to close her eyes and dream.

Time faded away, as did some of her immortality, so she began to as well.

It came to a point where the queen was far less of a person and more an entire galaxy. She became the stars and asteroids that had once tried to destroy her. It was now she who burned and demolished and suffocated things. There was barely anything human about her. So, realising this, she opened her eyelids and, with eyes that were hardly intact anymore, gave one look out over the galaxy. At first, she had thought she had found nothing, as always. But, looking closer, she found the blue planet she called earth.

Now, the queen had certainly seen it before. She had seen its creation, just like she had seen countless other planets creations, and she had seen what was on it. It hadn't been what she was looking for, and so she had turned away to look elsewhere. She had never given it a second thought.

Now, she did.

She had looked closer, closer than the layers of blue and green, and she had found people like her.

(Doesn't make sense?

Well, they weren't exactly like her, but they were close enough.

Why did she settle for close enough?

I suppose she was lonely enough to—

No more questions from you now; _hush_, child)

The sight gave her enormous strength, strength enough to become a person again and stop fading.

Immediately, to all of them, she began to plead with them to come with her, to stay with her. 'I could be your queen,' she had said in a voice few could hear, 'I could give you everything, anything you wanted, if only you'd come and stay with me'.

'Anything?' a mere hundred, though there were billions, had answered back.

'Anything.' she had said back.

'Then take us to where you are, and we'll stay.'

'Will you promise never to leave?'

'We will. We promise.'

Then the queen, content with their words, had reached out and brought the people to her in-between, and they, for the rest of their time, lived happily together...

* * *

><p>He looks out through the hole in the ground, looking at the blue jewel beneath them.<p>

For the first time, Len thinks he wants to leave this place.

* * *

><p><strong>note1; <strong>alright, so this au has been in my head for _years_, but until now, i haven't had the courage to post something for it.

saying that, i've had plenty of time to plan and develop a plot for it, which i have. i literally have hundreds of pages of notes for this particular story, notes on characters, character development, setting...pretty much everything to be honest.

however, despite this, i still need feedback on theme, atmosphere, and the general quality of my writing. i, am in no way, the perfect writer; and there's always room for improvement.

so, if you have a comment or criticism to make of this story, whether positive or negative, please do! anything you can tell me would be appreciated!

**note2; **i, as of current, am in great need of a beta reader, as well as a few people to discuss plot and elements of the story with. so, if anyone would like to help me with this, feel free to send me a PM, or even leave me a review saying you'd like to. i can't tell you how greatly appreciated this would be.

**note3; **also, while only a few characters have been listed, this story contains _most _of the vocaloids, though only some are main characters.


	2. i

When Len had been younger, his mother had told him stories from the world you could see through the ground.

Len had always sat cross-legged, completely still beneath the cold glow of a lamp as she told he and his fidgeting sister, her eyes always staring downwards— not _at _them, of course, she never did truly look at the two of them; something told Len that she didn't want to. Sometimes she told happy stories, ones with perfect beginnings and perfect middles and perfect endings, ones that Rin would have liked if she hadn't always fallen asleep before finishing them, but mostly she told tragedies.

The tale of the woman who sought revenge with golden robes and a crown, of the girl who threw herself into the sea and became little more than sea-foam, of the wooden boy hung for his many faults— the list went on for miles. At the end, in her candle-like voice she would remind him (or both, on the rare occasion that Rin hadn't run out or fallen asleep) '...from below, these are all _true _stories from below. Would you want to go somewhere that did these kinds of things?'

Of course, she hadn't really been asking. His mother had never really looked for answers. But still, he had nodded silently, awed and a bit scared.

'_Good_, it's safer to stay here, always safer.'

(her voice had wavered at these parts, his short-haired mother smiling some terrible grimace as if it were painful to say these things)

The last story she had told to them had been (the tale, another tragedy) the same; the nuances in her voice as she spoke, the rise and fall of the cold lamp above her head, the plush feel of the rug beneath his scraped knees... Everything had been like it had always been. She told the story, asked her questions, and drifted off soon after— leaving him alone with an already-asleep Rin.

He'd thought he had smiled down at her, stroking her hair fondly before he heard it. A knock at the door.

Len remembered the knock as odd— a sharp rap, as if someone were walking with wooden shoes on the outside of it, prim, proper, precise; nothing at all like the lazy taps of friends he recalled often. Immediately, he'd tensed, stopped the gentle stroking and looked up anxiously. But not before giving an awkward glance to his mother, still asleep; breathing shallow, or maybe deep, he couldn't remember. He'd raised a hand, touching lightly and nudging her shoulder.

The knock came again, louder.

Her eyes had snapped open, her hand lashing out and grabbing his wrist, leaving red, finger-shaped marks for him to discover later. Thin eyes stretched wide, maddened, pupils narrowing to pinpricks; she had looked at him full on for once in his life, for a full second, before her brown eyes had gained their far-away look again. She didn't speak, merely looked at the carpet, relinquishing hold of his wrist. He'd debated for a moment, lips parting before looking again at the door and back again, eyes questioning.

Again, the knock, louder still and far sharper. A demand now, and not a careful suggestion.

Her face had paled.

'Un, um...door,' he'd whispered, barely heard.

She'd paused, lips thinning; thinking back on it now, he thinks she had steeled herself for something.

'I can hear,' her voice was kinder than usual, more steady blanketing warmth than flickering candle.

Unsure, more like a wisp of air than a living person, she'd unfolded herself from her chair and floated, arms limp near her sides, towards the door. Raising a shaking hand, she'd nudged the door open.

Two in simple clothing had stood at the entrance; a dark woman who could only be described as triangular, all hard and straight lines but for her eyes. Curved spheres carved into an iron face. The man standing beside her was about as alike as a blade of grass, in fact, he looked like one. Thin and tall, willowy limbs you'd expect he'd be able to fold up like a card. His eyes were the same as the other's, the only other thing they shared in common, apart from skin tone. The woman's lips had opened, the two pairs of eyes looking almost apologetic as she spoke; thick, deep tones brushing against the heavy night air, cooling it some.

Stars flickered above, the grass snaking and biting at the sandals of the two. Flowers grinned upwards, hiding some secret he didn't know in the dim light of the lamps, peppering the walkway.

'Me- Miss. Do you know?'

A slight pause; his mother's voice still the blanket.

'I know.'

The man bit on his lip, looking back at the two children on the carpet, falling upon Len for a long moment, before glancing again quickly to his partner. She didn't even spare him a glance, only her thinning lips gave the sign that she had noticed. Her eyes kept suspended upon his mother. Again, she spoke.

'You have to come.'

'I know.'

'I know.'

'I know.'

She trembled, his mother, in the doorway; shoulders shaking, her head turning backwards to look at them, brown eyes flicking back and forth. The trio stood slack, resigned, and his mother offered her hand.

'I know.'

A broken record, stuck on repeat; she straightened. A different mask held perfectly in place. Again she looked back, hand wavering, outstretched, in the air. The man looks, again, to the siblings laid outstretched on the floor, jaw stiffening.

'For the children.'

Her head snapped forward and her hand stretched out farther immediately The woman nodded rather jerkily, as if finding the motion rather hard to accept. Her lips nearly became nonexistent, thinning to an almost impossible amount. Only the faint, pinkish tinge could be found to show them on the hollows of her mahogany face. Her movements became wooden, Len could almost picture her bones snapping when she stabbed her fingers out to grasp his mother's hand in a vice grip. Her lips didn't move an inch, her eyes becoming steely, looking off to the side like she couldn't bear to look at the person she's attached to. The man curled into himself, looking at his partner carefully. His lips parted, crackling.

'I'll...stay here, with the children.'

'...Yes.'

Len was suddenly glad that Rin wasn't awake to see anything like this.

The woman turned suddenly, dragging his mother off into the road of lights. Their feet pounded out over the ground, gravel crunching under their weight. It hadn't been a second before they'd disappeared over the hill.

Len felt cold.

(you're only six, and you know something isn't right)

The man crouched down, moving slowly towards him and closing the door behind, before placing a quiet hand on his shoulder. He only ever said two words.

'I'm sorry.'

* * *

><p>After that night, things had changed.<p>

She had come back different; smiling, laughing, attentive. She didn't look off into the distance, she would look at them with focused, kind eyes. Directly, like she never had. Rin never noticed a thing, or maybe she hadn't paid much attention- even still, she _should _have noticed something. Anything. But, no, she only smiled up and bounced around like always, looked at him strangely when he avoided being touched. Normal, she acted like things were the same as ever and something hadn't happened.

It scared him, made him stiffen when she placed a hand on his shoulder. You didn't just change overnight, literally, and not have anyone think anything of it.

Later he'd started to think that maybe he should just forget about the changes, catalog them somewhere in the back of his mind along with all his memories of people being led away (only to come back) and four year-olds laughing while their parents peeked out windows. Maybe then, if he did, he wouldn't feel so uneasy when she smiled. It would be easier for everyone if he were just to ignore it; no-one would have to worry, not even him. 'Ignorance is bliss' after all.

Len had constantly compared his old mother to this new one; the harsh jaw-line to the softened one, their eyes, their colours. But he stopped remembering what the old one did, what they looked like, who they were- were they even a separate person? Maybe he was imagining that side of her, maybe his mother had never been that way. Maybe. Why had he even thought of that? Why had he dreamed that up? He'd been young, only six. Of course he would see his mother that way; make up some false character that persecuted because she had ignored him once, hadn't looked at his messy drawing or something

He closes his eyes.

(you're only fourteen and you've forgotten something you realized at six)

The night stays preserved at the back of his mind, dismissed as a child's distorted memory.

* * *

><p>Len looks out over the hole, neutral, blank. He wants to leave, he knows that much.<p>

The thought is sharp, a cold knife poking through his brain delicately, and comes so suddenly he might have missed it if he had simply been staring out into space (as usual). A hand comes up to tap on the side of his head, reminding it of something he was told.

_'...hung from the rope on his neck, he moved no longer and' _

His finger pushes into his temple, trying to push out thoughts he doesn't exactly want to think of. Still, his eyes stare downwards, peering out of the solid ground into an abyss. Only the blue blot and millions of blinking lights are there to comfort him, remind him that his eyes aren't alone.

(his eyes are blue too, blue as the sphere below, but without the unnecessary dribble of white and green. the green reminds him of speech a person shouldn't really say, languidly floating upwards, crude talk you'd hear anywhere when a baby babbled. _goooo-oh, gaarrh, fooll-oodeds. _the white is intriguing though, steam off a kettle, but still unnecessary. not-needed. never-needed.)

_'and dissapeared into'_

His eyes tremble and

_'she gave them the poison because she thought'_

squeeze shut while

_'he thought they were dead b-b-bbb-b'_

his finger ousts speech from his head.

He doesn't want to look anymore.

His hands bring the pile of brush over it, sweeping twigs and leave about just as if they'd been there all along. The grass around is pristine, though, all neat layers cut into a flat mesh that would be nice to sleep on at night. It looks suspicious, he knows, but no one else goes this far off into the edges. Lack of interest or something, whatever it is, it stops them.

Around the tree, back through the hills, across the river, he knows the path by now, marked it mentally the first time he came here. It's his own spot, the only place where he can see anything other than grass and trees and water. He knows it better than he knows anything.

His feet begin to pound along the ground, reaching out towards his home. The wooden building and the white flowers come into view, and he only runs faster. The blue sky piles itself high above his head, sun dancing near the edge. His heart pounds in his chest, smiling. Closer, he's closer. Climb up the stairs, turn the handle. A routine you know well; a schedule implanted into him brain. Unusually, the house is silent, devoid of noise but for the creak the door makes when it opens.

It is, surprisingly, peaceful.

He pauses his walk along the floorboards, hearing footsteps other than his own approaching, and fast. Soft morning-light patters, like a mouse scampering across the musty hall-

And right into him.

'Oof-'

'Len?'

Rin's sharp voice is there to greet him, blunt and high as ever, with ice eyes and a shock of disheveled gold hair to match. A smudge of dirt sitting atop her nose, shirt and pants dusted with more of the stuff- obviously she's been running around again; climbing trees and pulling elaborate pranks with Miku and Luka, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The only offset to her overall mussed appearance is the slightly damp and blindingly white handkerchief (bleached, you bleached it well enough, didn't you? you hope so) gripped in her hand. It drags his eyes to it, makes him stare and swallow thickly.

'Mom, again?'

She shuffles a bit, feet shifting and stepping back awkwardly in their place, hand scuffing the back of her neck and eyes cast downwards. There's a sheepish smile on her face and some of her teeth show through the cracks in her lips (typical) but she speaks softer than usual.

'Ha, yeah. I dunno what's wrong with her these days- she just seems so tired.'

He nods, eyes sweeping towards the cloth again, 'Fever, this time?'

'Mm? Yeah. Not a bad one like the last though, at least,' she frowns, looking up at him.

'I could take care of it, you don't-'

His sister _snorts_, as if mocking the idea of his very suggestion which, by all means, she should, 'Yeah, and let you mess up? You might be good at housework and delicate stuff, but you're absolutely useless at caring for people-'

'Says the person covered in dirt- you might be good, Rin, but that's unsanitary,' he smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

'Pfft, well, um, I was just washing up.'

'I bet you were-' he yelps when she smacks him with the cotton, throwing the cloth up to land on his face. He only gets it off to see her stride past him, pumping water near the sink to dip a rag in. It takes a minute, but her hands are now that uneven tan and her face is without its muddy paint.

'I _was_, you shouldn't doubt me, dear brother.'

He smirks and returns the favour, having the cloth land in her hair, only to smack down again on the floor, 'I never have, darling sister.'

She let's out a small 'tch', bending down to pick it up again and muttering something like a 'yeah right' under her breath, 'Thanks, gonna need a new cloth now,' Rin sighs, and walks off, heavy steps parodying a four-year old, leaving Len alone to smile triumphantly. Mentally, he marks down his three-hundred and forty fifth victory (victory? should he even count it as that? his sister seemed less energetic today, too listless to even argue- but, ah, a victory was still a victory) to Rin's straight five-hundred. He was catching up, albeit slowly, but catching up nonetheless.

She comes back, truly and well into the guise of a child whose been denied a precious cookie, with another cloth in hand, and stops only to wet it before returning to the bedroom on the far right (end of the hall- which hall? second hall. definitely not the entrance. it leads from the kitchen and). Len takes the time to wander the rest of the house he hasn't already seen.

The floors, hard wooden ones he's polished and scrubbed at more times than he can count, have obviously been washed. They're clean- not as clean as he would like them, but honestly, nothing is _ever _clean enough for him, even he knows that- and shine with the sunlight trickling in through the windows The rugs have been swept, counters washed, wooden chairs placed ever so neatly and precisely in their places under the table. Had Rin done this? No way, he almost scoffed at the thought; mud and swinging from tree to tree was her thing, water and lye soap was _definitely_ his. Mother, then? But-

'She was cleaning, y'know- I left for around a half-hour and when I came back...' he turns around to see Rin gesturing towards the floor, startled. A clump rises in his throat, leaving an odd tingling sensation in its wake.

'I thought things were gonna be really bad, like last time- you know, with the vomit and soap and,' he made a face, she caught on quickly, 'uh, sorry, I won't remind you again- but then things were fine and-'

'Can I see her?'

'You didn't need to ask, Len,' Rin sighs and turns, muttering, 'I'm not Mom, y'don't have to confirm stuff all the time.'

She stops walking when she doesn't hear him move, looking backwards and raising a pale eyebrow.

'Well? Go on.'

Slowly, he trudges past her, practically feeling the roll of her eyes as he stumbles off towards the room. Turn, through the doorway, around the table, go. Stop. Pace, observe, turn the handle, peek, walk in. Len knows the pattern but he'll never get used to it. Observe, sit, watch, frown. He knows this too, why does he always choose repetition? He's glad the things that happen during his schedules don't always stay the same, otherwise he'd go mad. Brush a lock of hair aways from her face, wet the cloth in the pitcher even when you're not supposed to, wring it out, stop, place it on her forehead, stop, stare. Yes, he's sure of it, indeed, he'd go mad.

The thin arrow of light from the window lights up his mother's face, if only a little, revealing the sheen of sweat and deep sleep written across her face. The rest of her he can only see under the sheets, snowy blankets pulled up to her chin, melding her figure into the bed along with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. It's the same as it was last time, without the oddly bright smear of red on the bleached sheets. The room still smells like musty lavender, overwhelming, toying with the air around it. The floor is still only a floor, rug-bare, simple, no glamor to be seen. That was how she liked it, or how he thought she did, at least.

(he thinks he remembers when there were lamps in here, hung from wall to wall- but, not, that's not right. that's a child's dream. he only wishes his mother liked pretty things like flowers and paper crowns cut by a child's hands)

Up and down, her chest falls without a hitch, she doesn't need to remember to breathe, even when sleeping.

She stops breathing for a second, maybe she forgot?

The door creaks open.

'It's getting worse, isn't it?' her voice parts the air, thick and stuffy even with the window open.

He puts a hand on her forehead, slips it under the cloth. It's burning- for their standards, anyway. He nods absentmindedly, frowning deeply. His eyebrows furrow for a minute before he starts to speak slowly, quietly, as not to wake her

'Rin, do you think...we'll have to send a request? To make her better?'

(the queen will grant your wishes, all of them, any of them to make you happy; but don't be selfish, don't be greedy, otherwise she'll-)

'I..I hope not, we only have so many, you know? Fevers are something we should be able to take care of ourselves, it would be stupid to waste something that important on something that can be fixed easily.'

(-do nothing for you at all, cast you down, put you in your place, like the filthy, ignorant, slime you are. you have to be-)

'But what if she gets worse? What if this goes on and on and eventually we can't fix things anymore?'

(self-sufficient, hardworking, kind, gentle, strong, meek- there is a whole list, did you want it?)

'It won't, this will all blow over, doncha' think? Honestly, you're such a worrier, Len.'

A loud knock at the door, sharp, wooden shoes against oak.

'Coming!' Rin is gone before he can answer.

Voices, coming from down the hall, his sister's quiet giggle then a deeper chuckle. He strokes his mother's hair, eyes directed towards the door. More talking and a worried tone, perhaps a surprised one in turn? Pattering, mice scratching against the floor. Then a slow, light skip, the door bursts open under a pale appendage. His hand freezes.

'Len, someone wants to talk to us.'

* * *

><p><strong>note1; <strong>ayy, so this has been a long time coming. But I hope three-thousandish words will be proper consolation? probably not.

special thanks to **ReiyKa** for favouriting and to **iloveyugiohGX93** and **two guests **for reviewing. i'll be sure to keep your suggestions in mind.

**note2; **currently, i am still in need of a beta and a few people to discuss plot, themes, tone, etc. with. i can't explain to you how much either of those things would help me. if you'd like to volunteer, feel free to drop me a pm and/or a review telling me so!


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